


That Which Must Be, Will Be

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Grieving, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:49:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to get used to being called Galahad. Every time he hears the name, he half-turns, expecting to see Harry standing beside him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Must Be, Will Be

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from the same book that gives us the "Manners maketh man" quote and seemed rather fitting.
> 
> With many thanks to [HumanTrampoline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/pseuds/HumanTrampoline).

_9._

"Hello, Eggsy," Harry says, and that's when Eggsy knows for certain that he's dying.

_1._

The world is pretty fucked up now, and it's all Eggsy's fault, but he really can't feel all that sorry about it. If he hadn't done what he did, the world would have destroyed itself. So actually, he saved them all.

Still. He has to live with the fact that he basically killed the Prime Minister and the American President and a whole bunch of other famous people and heads of state. Governments all over the world are in disarray, and economies are unstable, and a lot of people died in those terrible few minutes when Valentine's sim cards ruled the world. Eggsy's two best mates both end up in hospital because they tried to kill each other, but thankfully both are going to make a full recovery.

Eggsy doesn't get to visit them. For a long time after Valentine's death, the Kingsman agents are kept busy just trying to maintain some semblance of order across the globe. There's barely time to recover from one mission before he's sent on another one.

It's all good, though. Staying busy keeps him from thinking about things best not thought about. At night he's so tired he falls into bed and is asleep almost immediately.

If he dreams about a church bathed in blood and sunlight, and a single gunshot, he doesn't remember it.

_10._

He wakes up in the HQ infirmary, in what looks like, but probably isn't, the same bed where he used to watch over a comatose Harry. He likes to think it is, though. He likes to think that he can feel a warmth on the sheets next to his hand, as though a person who had been sitting in the chair beside the bed for a long time grew overcome with weariness, and rested their head on the bed for just a little while.

He might be off his rocker. These days it's hard to tell.

No one will give him a straight answer about what happened. When he tells them that Harry was the one who cut him loose, they all turn slightly away, as though embarrassed. It's not until he demands to see the video feed, though, that Merlin suddenly stops being able to look him in the eye. "There is no video," he says.

"Bollocks," Eggsy snaps back. It hurts his mouth to talk, but he doesn't care. He knows the video exists. The bad guys took his glasses off so they could hit him in the face, but even after they were dropped on the floor, they were still recording everything that happened. He is certain of that.

"I want to see it," he says. He has to know if he only imagined it, hallucinating from blood loss and plain old _loss_ , or if it really happened. Whether it was real or not, whether Harry was there or not, he has to know.

He can't go on this way.

_5._

In between the jobs that take him all over the world, and spending time with his mum and baby sister, Eggsy retreats to Harry's house. It's the only refuge he has, where he can be alone and just let himself brood. He stares morosely at the newspapers plastered on the wall and makes up scenes in his head for what Harry did on that day, and all the people he saved.

He remembers Harry saying that everything he had done was to atone for Eggsy's father's death.

And always when he remembers that, Eggsy can almost – _almost_ – feel grateful that Harry is dead. Because he heard the horror in Harry's voice on that last day. _I wanted to kill them._ And he knows that Harry would never forgive himself for what he did. So in a terrible way, it's all worked out for the best. At least now Harry doesn't have to suffer the guilt and horror over what he did inside that church. 

There aren't enough years in the lifespan of the universe to atone for that kind of killing.

_2._

Percival is the new Arthur. Eggsy doesn't know him all that well, but since he chose Roxy to be the new Lancelot, he can't be all that bad. More importantly, Roxy trusts him, so that's good enough for Eggsy. For his first act as Commander of Kingsman, Percival flies to Kentucky to identify Harry's body, previously only known as another John Doe in the church massacre.

Eggsy attends the funeral, although he doesn't want to. But he knows if he doesn't go, he'll regret it later.

There is no viewing beforehand, and the casket remains closed. Roxy stands close beside him the entire time. Eggsy stands with his hands clasped in front of him, his back ramrod straight, feet slightly parted, a soldier at parade rest. 

At one point during the service, Roxy reaches for his hand. He doesn't unclasp them and accept the offer of comfort. He doesn't speak to anyone. He doesn't cry.

After, he goes back to Harry's house, and he makes himself a drink. He gives a long toast to Mr. Pickle, and he drains the glass. Then he pours himself another one. And another.

He wakes up the next morning lying on Harry's couch, still with his shoes on. There's a foul taste in his mouth and a cramp in his neck.

Nothing's changed since last night, but now the house feels cold and empty.

_7._

Percival knows he has no interest in going to America, that he doesn't want anything to do with the country that killed Harry, but the job is the job. And America has – or had – one of the most powerful governments in the world. If he doesn't want to see crackpots and unqualified idiots take over that government – and he doesn't, not really – then he has to do his duty as a Kingsman.

So when Percival sends him to quietly take out a Congressman intent on becoming the next Secretary of Defense, Eggsy goes.

It's supposed to be an easy job. They know the target's schedule. Merlin's in his ear, giving him all the information he needs. He's pulled off half a dozen assassinations like this one already. He's not worried about it.

Except the man in question has already had a couple attempts made on his life, and he's become paranoid. There's no getting close to him. And the job that was supposed to be so easy turns into an unholy mess.

"Merlin," he says some hours later, and he's crouched in some dark alley, hiding behind a stinking pile of rubbish while streetlights turn smelly puddles into silvery mirrors. "I know I say this a lot, but this time I really mean it. I'm fucked."

"Just stay put," Merlin advises. "Backup is en route."

Eggsy nods, presses his fingers harder into the bleeding stab wound in his arm, and listens for approaching footsteps. He knows it's impossible, but at times like this he can't help but hope for a miracle, that when the shadowy form approaches him from the other side of the alley, it will be Harry. Shaking his head in that old gesture of exasperation, impeccably dressed, ready to kill. Harry, come to save him.

It's not Harry who comes to his rescue. It's Tristan, another Kingsman, one Eggsy barely knows. He's grateful for the help, but at the same time he resents Tristan, almost hates him.

After that he tells Merlin he works alone, and only alone, no matter the circumstances.

_3._

He tries to talk to Merlin about it once. After all, technically speaking it was Merlin who pushed the button. But Merlin won't talk to him about it. The one and only time he says anything, it's short and curt. "We do what we have to do. That's the job. If you can't handle it, I suggest you find alternative means of employment." So yeah, if Merlin is suffering pangs of guilt, he's not letting on.

That's fine. Eggsy has enough guilt for both of them.

_12._

He holds Harry tight, and he closes his eyes. If this isn't real, if he's only imagining it, he doesn't want to know the truth.

_4._

It's hard to get used to being called Galahad. Every time he hears the name, he half-turns, expecting to see Harry standing beside him. On this, at least, Merlin seems to be on the same page as him. Except for when protocol demands it, Merlin calls him Eggsy, and leaves the code name behind.

Eggsy tries very hard not to think how grateful he is for that.

_8._

The group has some laughably bad name like Britons for Freedom or something ridiculous that they think looks good on their signs when they demonstrate in Westminster. There's nothing funny though, about what they've been demonstrating to Eggsy for the last six hours. Or so he thinks. He's not sure how long it's been. Time has kind of gone all funny on him.

Not that it matters. He isn't talking, and they have to know it by now. He's a Kingsman, and even if he wasn't, one thing he could always do was keep his mouth shut. They've done their best though, and he can't lie to himself, he's in a bad way. Still, it's not the pain that's going to do him in – he could tell these guys a thing or two about what _real_ pain feels like. No, it's the blood loss that worries him.

He's all woozy in the head from it, so when the door bursts open and two of his torturers fall backward into the room, already dead, he has to blink a couple times to be sure of what he's seeing.

There's no way. It can't be. And Eggsy just kind of laughs then, because he doesn't know what else to do. He has to tip his head back and look up through the one eye that isn't swollen shut. "What," he says, because it's all he can think to say.

"Hello, Eggsy," says Harry, and that's when Eggsy knows for certain that he's dying. It's the blood loss. It has to be.

"I'm dead then," he says matter-of-factly. He wishes he could have talked to his mum one last time. That would have been nice.

"Not yet," Harry says. A knife gleams in his hand, the blade slick with red. He makes quick work of the bonds holding Eggsy to the chair, then puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

The touch of Harry's hand burns his skin through the tattered ruins of his dress shirt. Eggsy blinks and stares. There is a jagged scar on Harry's forehead, winding its way toward his temple and the silver hair nestled there.

"What," he says again.

Out in the hall, footsteps rush toward the door. Harry straightens up, twists gracefully at the hip, shoots the newcomers dead, bang bang, then turns back to Eggsy. "Time to go," he says.

Eggsy just stares at him. "Okay," he says.

_6._

He thinks he knows now why Harry used to drink so much. Alcohol helps numb everything, helps him cope a little. Sometimes he sits at the beautiful dining room table where Harry once taught him how to behave like a gentleman, and he pretends that it's just the two of them again, sharing a Scotch while commiserating over the fuck-ups in their latest missions.

He remembers the way Harry used to shake his head ever so slightly when he was annoyed, the way he did on that day of the etiquette lesson, when Eggsy deliberately held his knife and fork like they were spears and he was hunting his food. He remembers the touch of Harry's fingers on his, correcting his grip, gently reproving him without embarrassing him. He remembers wondering if Harry was always so cool and composed, if anything could ever break through that façade of manners, or if he remained a perfect gentleman even in the bedroom.

He'll never know now.

But he likes to imagine it anyway, sitting in Harry's living room on cold rainy nights, crafting scenarios in his head, indulging himself in _what-if._ He imagines Harry inviting him to dinner. In his mind he dresses himself in his best bespoke suit, and when Harry answers the door, he is stunning in a velvety wine-colored smoking jacket. He imagines the meal, because of course Harry can cook, Harry can do anything.

Except, it seems, dodge a bullet to the head.

_11._

He's nearly done getting dressed – the suit just showed up one morning, draped neatly across the chair – when the door to his room opens. He's got his back to the door, but he knows it's either Merlin or Percival wanting to talk to him; they aren't happy that he's discharging himself early. He's been hurt, they say. He's been through a lot recently. He needs time to recover.

Screw them. He finishes adjusting his cuffs before he turns around.

"A gentleman does not keep another one waiting," Harry says.

Seeing him standing there, like nothing ever happened, like he hasn't been gone for months, Eggsy's heart does this funny jolt in his chest. It hurts more than every single thing the bad guys did to him.

"Although I seem to be guilty of the same charge," Harry says mildly. "So perhaps we'll just call this one even."

Except for the scar, and some extra lines around his eyes, he looks the same. His dark grey suit is exquisitely tailored as always, conforming to the slender lines of his body. There is no doubt that he is here, very much alive.

"I dunno," Eggsy says. "I think you might owe me on this one."

Harry's chin lifts, just slightly. He makes a faint humming noise, either disapproval or agreement. He regards Eggsy with the same warm brown eyes, the same clear assessing gaze. "Do you know," he finally says, "I think you might be right."

"Yeah," Eggsy breathes over the hammering pain in his chest. "I think I am."

"Very well then," Harry says. "Shall we discuss this over drinks?"

There's an awful lot to discuss, starting with _how_ , but drinks is a good start. A very good start.

"Yeah," he says. "That'd be good. That'd be real good." And then he can't hold himself back anymore. He strides forward and he wraps his arms around Harry and he swears he's never going to let go again.


End file.
